I wish I had one last try
hidden somewhere inside
but it's all been spent before
When I reach for it
I can sense it in my hand
and when I try to grasp it
it's like sand -- or water through my hopeful fingers
This just won't hold -- hold
This just won't hold -- hold
There's something so half-full about us
we get so little but what we get it tastes so much
we're always longing for more
Is this the end of the thread?
the thread that led me to loose my head
over something that started with wonder
This just won't hold -- hold...
And even if a butterfly lives a hundred years
Or the stream of water turns around in the rivers
You and me -- we'll still be the same
You and me -- we'll still be the same